


Insanity

by KingKrys



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:25:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingKrys/pseuds/KingKrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally written and published in 2005.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and published in 2005.

As I begin my tale, you, dear reader, will see that I am not at all, in the least, crazy. You will see that I did what I did for a very good reason, even if at first you might think it is not, but you will come to see that it indeed is. To prove to you that I am not crazy, I must take you back in time to really, where it all started, a time when I was quite young. 

My tale begins on a dark and stormy night, so dark and eerie was the feeling inside the aged house that it was almost insufferable. You could see nothing but pitch black, like the whole house had been swallowed up into a shadowy hole of nothing. We had to use candles to even see a thing. 

When the lightning had struck the house, I flew from my bed and sprinted down the stairs as quick as my feet would carry me. As I could not see anything, I did not realize that I had run into something until it was too late. I tumbled down the staircase, landing on something soft that broke my fall, and also grunted from underneath me. I felt under me and was able to find that it was my beloved younger sister that I had fallen upon. 

I stood up off her and offered her my hand and helped her to stand. When she was up, she jerked her hand away from mine suddenly, and I supposed backed away, since I could still not see a thing, when suddenly the faintest bit of light seeped in through the darkness.

The light was from a thin candlestick held by my Father. When he saw my sister and I standing there he asked if we were ok, and we both replied yes. Deciding to himself that we were indeed telling the truth, he told us to stay put while he went to see about fixing the lights. Before he left he handed my sister a small flashlight so we would be able to see. 

As I started to walk towards my sister she started to back away from me again. I could not understand why she did this so after taking another step towards her and having her back away again, I finally stopped and asked why she did this. 

Her reply was something I was definitely not expecting in the least. “Stay away you will kill me,” she said. And I really did not understand how she could stand there and say that I would kill her, when I loved my sister so very much. 

Days passed by and still those were the only words my sister would ever say to me. Some days she would say nothing at all, only looking at me with hallow eyes before quickly running off in the opposite direction. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I did love my sister very much, and I still do. But there were days when I knew why she was afraid of me, some days even to afraid to step from her room, scared that she might come upon me when I would be having one of my episodes. 

That of course started years after the first time she told me to stay away from her. I had become most jealous of her, as she was growing up in front of my eyes, into a beautiful young women, who was ever so loving and caring, and I could see why my Father favored her and adored her so very much. 

Every time I looked at my sister’s sweet face I became ever angrier, my heart becoming full with hatred for her. But I never once thought of killing her, oh no, I never thought of that, not yet anyway.

At that moment I only thought to torture her, torture her like she had been torturing me over the years, always being so kind to everyone and making everyone love her, making everyone forget that I even existed.

I tried everything I could think of, from calling her cruel names every time I saw her, to saying that I wished she were dead to her abnormally sweet face. But she would never listen to me; she would only turn her head and look in the other direction. 

I tried taunting her many times over a few weeks, but nothing ever seemed to work. Nothing, it seemed, could hurt her, and then I remembered a time when we were younger, it was when we were playing hide and seek, she had hidden in a secret compartment that was hidden in her closet. She had to have been in there for over three hours, for when I found her she was sitting up against the wall, shaking, with her eyes wide as if she was terrified that she would never leave that small room. I suppose that it also didn’t help much that she was clausterfobic. 

It took me months of staying enclosed in this morbid sanctuary I called my room before I had the perfect plan to get rid of her, forever, and I knew just what to do, oh did I know what to do. I would trick her into going into the foyer behind the closet and trap her in, never releasing her. 

As I set in my room and pondered over these thoughts I took a real look around my room. The drapery was a navy blue and spotless of any mold, my bed coverings matched the curtains, and the walls where painted a pearl white. A small desk set in my room, and to the side of it set a dishelmed bookcase. It was not much to look at, but it was, in the least, what I called home.

One day as I was working on my plans, quite swiftly, to be rid of my beloved sister, my Father walked into my humble estate, usually he would knock before entering, but there were those few occasions when, as I had known for a long time, he would come home drunkenly, walk straight up the stairs, and quietly walk into my room. Those were the days I dreaded the most. 

Ever since my mother had died a few years back, my father had decided to take his sorrow and his anger out on me. He would only do this, of course, when he was drunk. Most days he was a rather good father, always showing new things to my sister, and explaining to me what he had done at work that day. 

But then there were the days, as I have mentioned, where he would come home late from work, as he stopped at a nearby bar somewhere, or perhaps even a small store, to buy himself the dreadful liquor.

It was on these days that I feared, and some days even hoped, that day would be the last, the last day I would ever have to face my Father in his drunken state, ever again. 

When he walked into my room, the night of late, I pushed back my chair and silently walked from the room and down the hall into his room, where I opened up a small drawer that contained several belts and whips. I carefully stroked a small and hard leather black one before picking it up and wrapping it around my hand. 

After shutting the drawer, I walked steadily back to my own room, the hallway seeming much more longer than before, it seemed that it would go on forever as I walked down that long hallway, but I was very much too soon at my bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped into the now darkened room. My Father stood silently against the wall, his arms crossed, waiting for my return. 

I handed him the black belt and turned away from him while tore my t-shirt from my already bruised body. I stiffened my back, preparing myself for the pain that would soon race across my backside, and closed my eyes as I felt the first strike. 

I did not dare to cry, I dared not to even shed one single tear, for I knew that if I did, it would make my Father hit harder and faster, telling me the whole time that I was weak and needed to be taught discipline for my lack of wanting to follow the rules. I did follow the rules though, but I would never say that to my Father, for I knew that would only enhance his anger upon me. 

As I felt the strap leave my body, I braced myself for another strike, but when I felt nothing I opened one of my eyes slightly and peered back at my Father, who was not looking at me but the door that stood ajar.

Apparently my younger sister had been awakened from the sounds of the belt scraping my back, as she stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with terror, and her mouth agape. I could tell that when she finally closed her mouth, that she was biting her tongue and trying to hold back her tears. 

When my Father came around from his frozen state, he whirled at my sister, grabbing her arm he lead her back into her room, where he slammed the door, but it did not shut all the way, and I could hear everything that was said.

He told my sister to forget what she had seen and to never utter a word about it to anyone, and if she didn’t there would be hell to pay. After that, my Father must have forgotten about me, for when he stepped from her room he walked to his own room and shut the door. 

I closed my door and against the wall and slowly slid down it, leaning the side of my head against the wall. My breath suddenly caught in my throat as I heard a muffled weeping sound from the other side of the wall. 

My sister was crying for me, after all the pain and torture she put me through over the years, there she was crying for me. At first I was saddened by this though of hearing my sister weep, but then I started picturing her face, her sweet intoxicating face, and my hatred of her started all over again. 

At first I tried to completely block out the world around me. Yet as I did so, my emotions became stronger and my feelings deeper. I spoke to no one, and when, or if, I did only three words would come from my mouth, “Leave me be,” I would say. I hardly slept. For when I did my mind was taken over by even darker thoughts. Of pain and misery, of demons, plaguing his mind.

I was bound and chained to my every emotion. Once the darkness had taken over me, there was no longer a light for me to run to. It had been taken away from me. Too long had it been taken away, too long. Every night I would cry out for help, for some kind of solitude.

Sometimes I would even pray, pray to heavens for mercy. Have mercy on me for I knew I had done wrong. Oh had I done wrong. I had done so many terrible things that I could feel my heart turning black.

A few days later was when I finally decided that it was time, once and for all, to get rid of my sweet baby sister, perhaps even my Father too. Yes, now that I thought about it, it was really my Father that was the one that should be killed and not my sister. But my sister had too much going for her, when, I myself, had absolutely nothing. She would pay for all the years that I had to live in her shadow.

I suddenly remembered a time when I had awoken, deep in sweat. I had the dream again. No, it wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare, a most vicious memory. I breathed deeply trying to calm myself. Rising from my bed, I walked to the bathroom shaking the whole way. 

When I entered the bathroom I padded across the cool tiled floor. As I reached the mirror I shut his eyes so that he couldn’t see the pale-white-flesh staring back at him. I reached out my trembling hand to open the medicine cabinet that was beside the mirror. My hand poked through all the bottles that set on the shelves, all for different purposes. 

I pulled out two bottles, one that would ease my nerves and the other for the writhing pain in my head. My hands shook as I opened the lids and took a pill from each. As I lifted the medicine to my lips, my fingers slipped and dropped one of the small pills into the sink. I jolted my hand into the sink and fished for the small item. Not being able to feel it I finally opened my eyes, searching. 

When I finally found the pill I popped it into my mouth and swallowed it dry. Not being able to advert my gaze anymore, I looked up to the mirror. What I saw looking back at him frightened him almost as much as my nightmare. My eyes were bloodshot and my skin almost looked transparent. I wore deep circles under my eyes and scratches ran along my face. I touched my cheek remembering the bruise that once lay there. My father had given it to me because of my unworthiness.

I shook my head from my thoughts and opened my sister’s bedroom door ever so quietly and peered in. She was sleeping peacefully in her bed; her covers were up to her neck, and her pillow so large that it seemed to be smothering her. I looked around the crowded room, taking everything in. Beside her bed was a bookshelf, but unlike mine, it was not old and worn. She had a desk of her own, which had been painted pink, her favorite color, and on it set a small radio, and beside the radio set a stack of papers. On the far edge of the room lay many toys that she had collected over the years.

After a few seconds, I walked softly over to her desk, checking every few moments behind me to see if she had awoken or not. As I reached the desk, after what seemed forever, I noticed that the stack of papers were actually drawings she had done. For a young girl that seemed to be made of everything sweet, her drawings were quite frightening. 

All the drawings were done in marker, they seemed to be pictures of herself, one where she was falling down the stairs, another where she was in the closet, and yet another where she seemed to be leaning up against a tomb of some kind, as I looked more closely, I could see drops of blood upon the page.

Tarring my eyes away from the morbid drawings, I turned toward my sister, whom was still asleep in her bed, tucked in tightly underneath the bed sheets. I took one step at a time, moving very slowly and very quietly, to beside her. I was nervous and it seemed that sound of my won heart beat was getting ever louder that I was sure at any moment she would hear it and wake up. She did not though. I stood there for a few moments, just staring down at her, while trying to calm ragged breath.

I leaned in to her ever so slightly and readied myself to take her. Just as I had snatched her up, she had awoken and started to writhe and scream beneath my arms. She soon was able to escape from my arms and as she did, she hit the side of the mattress; she and the mattress went tumbling to the floor, her underneath it. I could hear her screams and her begs under the large material, but I did nothing. After several minutes of insufferable welling, the commotion was silenced. 

I carefully pushed up the mattress and looked underneath to see that my sister was no longer breathing, I did not consider to check her pulse, for I knew that she was indeed dead. 

I carefully picked her up then and carried her to the closet, and opening the door, I walked in and turned on the small light overhead. I then turned the knob on the door to the secret room and laid her down inside. I came back out and shut the door, and then the closet door and locked it. I walked to her bed and put the mattress back in its proper place, then turned on my heel and strutted out the door, smirking the whole way. I had finally gotten rid of my sister. 

It was only a few hours later when my Father had arrived home; I could hear him stomping up the stairs and soon enter his room. I waited patently waited while he readied himself for, what he thought would be, a relaxing and peaceful sleep. I did not have to wait very long until the lights had gone off in his room, and when at last, I heard no noise what so ever, I made my move.

I made my way ever so slowly into the hallway and towards where my Father rested, it only took me a few seconds to reach the door but it had felt like forever. I very slowly opened the door, just wide enough for one of my eyes to see into the room. My Father had his back turned toward the door and I could hear soft snores floating throughout the room. As I made my way, carefully and slowly, tiptoeing as quietly as I could toward him, I noticed the bed sheets slowly rising, up and down, up and down, as he breathed. 

I stood there transfixed by sound of his breathing for a few moments before I lost my nerve completely. I was just about to strike! When the faintest noise arose to my ears. At first I thought I was just hearing things, but the noise grew ever louder. It sounded like a thousand hearts beating and then a loud screeching noise hit my ears, the sound was so unbearable that clasped my hands to my ears, trying to block out the sound. I looked back over to my Father, convinced that he was awake now, but alas, he slept on. I did not, could not, understand how he could still be sleeping while I stood here trying to block out the most horrendous noise that must have been sent from the devil himself to rip me apart. 

I started to scratch at my ears to block out the pain, a bit too hard I think, for a drip of blood splattered on my Father’s sheets, that, I am very surprised to say, was the thing that had awoken him, not the sound of nails on a chalk board, but the softest whisper of spilt blood.

My Father’s eyes opened suddenly and looked up at me with the most loathing look I had ever seen. He reached his hand out for me, but I quickly backed away and tore from the room as fast as I could. I made it back to my room and had shut the door before he could even step from his bed. I sighed to myself, wearily, and was about to retire to my own bed when I felt that something was different in my room. 

I felt my hand along the wall gently and pushed up on the switch. Light shone into the room and I saw what made me feel so strange. My walls were covered with the drawings from my sister’s room, the drapery was no longer clean and navy blue, but the deepest shade of blood red, and, if my eyes did not escape me, they seemed to be unraveling like they were being torn to shreds. 

The noise that I had heard only moments ago, which I had forgotten upon seeing my bedroom, was now growing even louder until it seemed that I was hearing it inside my head. Inside my very bones and soul. I could not understand where this noise was coming from, so I searched my room, looking for any trace of what it could be, ripping everything I owned to pieces, clattering to the floor.

As suddenly as the noise had started, it stopped. Thinking that I had gotten rid of the monstrous sound, I started to pick up my things, but just as I was bending over to pick up a book, the noise started again, this time it was coming from the door that attached my room to my beloved little sister’s. 

I walked ever so slowly to the door and when I reached it, I braced myself, closed my eyes, and slowly turned the knob. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. What I saw left me standing, horrified. There was my little baby sister, standing in front of me; her eyes were bloodshot, like she had not slept for years, and as I looked down I could see that her fingernails looked to be gnawed off, as if she had been scratching at wall, she stood with a slight limp as if she had fallen down the stairs, and her breathing was ragged, like she had been suffocated to death. 

I stood appalled, not knowing what to do, my sister was supposed to be dead, not standing in front of me now, like nothing had happened to her. My throat went dry and my eyes watery before she spoke.

“I told you that you would kill me,” she whispered softly before pushing me backwards and I tumbled down a long staircase.


End file.
